


it was always worth it (that's the part i seem to hide)

by paopuleaf



Series: tillman henderson (is back from the dead) [2]
Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: ADHD Sensory Overload Bad Time Simulator, Banter, M/M, Major Character Undeath, this is... fluff? and angst? both, tillman henderson (is as insufferable as always)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27273412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paopuleaf/pseuds/paopuleaf
Summary: “you going back to your tinyass apartment?”“we’regoing back to my tinyass apartment, bro, get with the plan.” declan snickers as tillman shoves him, keys jingling as he spins them on his finger. “you can steal my shower when we get there.”“what, my ash-covered body not good enough for you? fucker? judging me? i’m as handsome as ever.”“you smell like a corpse.”-[ a companion fic to "dashboard's melted (but we still have the radio)" ]
Relationships: Tillman Henderson/Declan Suzanne
Series: tillman henderson (is back from the dead) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1976746
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	it was always worth it (that's the part i seem to hide)

**Author's Note:**

> alt title : if there were two tillmans in #writing-general and one killed the other with a gun would that be fucked up or what
> 
> [vibes playlist ft. mike townsend](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1irq646u4GQ2coTILFoTqz?si=daKbCzxtT4-CORIwwk7LNQ)
> 
> declan uses he/they and tillman uses he/him !

tillman spends most of the plane ride to chicago dozing off and jolting back awake, wearing one too many jackets for the weather and pretending that he isn’t constantly leaning against declan next to him. (declan, of course, sees right through it - kind of hard  _ not  _ to. he doesn’t  _ say  _ anything though, and tillman’s begrudgingly grateful for it.)

“c’mon,” they say, and tillman gets up, does  _ not  _ stumble and does  _ not  _ use declan as a brace. he’s still covered in ash, under the jackets, and shivering, and it’s a stark difference from the uncomfortable  _ warm  _ and his pulse is weak but there and - 

he’s not  _ dead,  _ not like all of the other idiots in the stupid fucking hall. that’s what matters.

“you going back to your tinyass apartment?” 

“ _ we’re  _ going back to my tinyass apartment, bro, get with the plan.” declan snickers as tillman shoves him, keys jingling as he spins them on his finger. “you can steal my shower when we get there.”

“what, my  _ ash-covered  _ body not good enough for you? fucker? judging me? i’m as handsome as ever.”

“you smell like a corpse.”

“i  _ was _ a corpse, idiot.”

“exactly!” 

tillman snickers, putting more of his body weight onto them as he drags his feet. “guess you have to drag my corpse all the way there, then.”

“you’re the  _ worst, _ ” declan protests, but they shove their keys back into their pocket and nudge him off and -  _ pick him up like a fucking firefighter.  _ “corpse dragging speedrun initiated.”

“mother _ fucker- _ !”

they laugh, and tillman goes limp - fuck this, if he’s gonna get carried he’s gonna get carried. declan’s arms can hurt. “how are you gonna unlock the door like this, dumbass?”

“very carefully,” declan responds, all matter of fact. it sounds  _ exactly  _ like something loser would say. awful. “god, i just sounded like your  _ dad _ , what the fuck-”

“loser’s not my fucking dad- what the hell is your  _ problem _ -”

“i never said loser, but now that you mention it...”

tillman goes silent for a second, before elbowing them the best he can, scowling. “i hate you.”

“yeah, yeah.” there’s a grin there, even if tillman can’t see it, and it makes him feel  _ disgustingly  _ fuzzy. “stop- writhing, i’ve got a shower to throw you into.”

“but i wanna be a musky husky-”

declan stops in place for a second, before making an exaggerated retching sound. “you’re- awful, bad. never say those words in that order to me again. gonna throw you into catboy jail for crimes.”

_ balance is restored, _ tillman thinks. “yeah? yeah? do it, you won’t-” declan turns on his heel abruptly, and he freezes, before tapping at his arm. “hey, where the fuck- where the fuck are we going? dude?” 

“catboy jail,” they deadpan. “goodbye tillman.”

“laaaame- hey!”

five minutes later, tillman finds himself thrown onto the couch of declan’s apartment, aptly nicknamed ‘catboy jail,’ with a couple of towels thrown on top. “go take a shower so i can wash  _ my  _ clothes that you’ve stolen,  _ and  _ so you stop smelling like a corpse.”

“never,” tillman says, as he gets up to go take a shower, “i’ve never touched water in my life. hydrophobic. hate the gay people.”

“that’s-” declan covers his mouth, laughing, and god, is he having a fucking heart attack or something  _ why does his chest ache _ . “babe. bro. bro go take a  _ fucking  _ shower.”

the shower is - nice, tillman admits, watching the ash turn the water grey under his feet. he manages to snag some of declan’s clothes on his way out, a too-big chiclawgo shirt and a pair of sweatpants. “you look like a drowned cat.”

“you look like a sad puppy. thought i’d vanish the minute i left your sight?”

declan winces, before sticking his tongue out and tossing his  _ still  _ too-big, puffy jacket at him. (the fireproof one, tillman’s pretty sure, and it feels- like  _ something _ . knot in his chest.) “you’re shaking like a VRChat model with bad calibration,” they tell him, ignoring the comment, and tillman shoves the jacket on. (warm.) “are those- i don’t know why i’m surprised, actually.”

“i don’t know either. this is definitely, like, typical,” and it is, really,  _ half  _ of his wardrobe at home is declan’s clothes, “if you didn’t want your clothes stolen, shouldn’t have left them for me to steal, idiot.”

the couch creaks as declan shifts, grabbing him by the hand and yanking him down onto it. “if you didn’t wanna be held, shouldn’t have been… holding-shaped, idiot.” tillman snickers. shifts so he’s curled up somewhat comfortably - less about the comfort, more about the contact. it feels like it’s setting his nerves on  _ fire. _ unfamiliar - it shouldn’t be, it’s only been, what, a year? a year of being dead. 

_ just  _ a year.

“i wanna kick your ass at a video game again,” he says, abrupt,  _ desperately  _ trying to cut off his train of thought. thinking’s-  _ overrated.  _ “it’s been  _ way  _ too long. can’t let your hubris get out of check.”

“i’ve had a year of practice, i’m gonna kick your ass.” declan stretches to grab the tv remote and xbox controllers off the coffee table, tossing one to tillman. “wanna do a co-op game, or, like, carcassonne?”

“ _ carcassonne? _ neeeeerd.”

declan flushes, as if realizing a mistake a little too late, and pointedly looks away. “i- shut up, it’s fun! played it after one of the chiclawgo games with the rest of the gang, and- y’know. fuck off.” 

“still a nerd game. bet i can kick your ass at it anyway.” a challenge. declan boots it up near immediately.

a few rounds in (tillman does  _ not  _ kick their ass, but he’s getting the hang of it, because letting declan be better at video games is absolutely unacceptable), declan pauses. looks serious, which is never a good sign. “i- you doing good? like, after that?”

“what, the whole death thing?”

“no shit, bro.”

“it’s  _ fine,  _ duh. told you guys- if an ump tried to set me on fire, i would simply not die. not my fault you got all sappy and sad about it.”

declan hums, exhaling a little out of his nose- not quite a laugh, but close enough. the concern makes tillman’s skin crawl, anyway. “i think you being dead gave me a braincell, i want my insurance back.”

“sorry, babe, i don’t owe shit.”

“you owe rivers at  _ least  _ fifteen bucks.”

“nope, that’s dumb, all transactions- all debts null at death.”

now  _ there’s  _ a laugh, and tillman hides the dumb little self-satisfied grin his face makes with a sleeve, reaching over to unpause the game. “i’ll take the braincell back if you beat me all or nothing at this game.”

“it’s  _ on. _ ”

declan does not, in fact, beat him every game, but by the time they finish up they’re both half-asleep and half as coherent, anyway. “gonna- corpse carry me to bed again?” the xbox controllers are tossed aside, ready to be shoved between the cushions and never seen again, and declan - does  _ not  _ corpse carry him again, but he’s got an arm around his shoulder and lets him lay half on them when they get to the bed, so it’s fine. preferable, even.

“glad you’re back,” they mumble, right before passing out, which is  _ painfully  _ unfair. tillman wants the last word, wants to make it feel less  _ meaningful _ , but all he’s left with is a sleeping partner and the big ball of unaddressed things in his chest.

coming back from the dead is  _ so  _ much fucking work.

-

they drag themselves out of the apartment for lunch the next day - tillman gets a couple cursory looks from people on the street, but he’s no  _ jaylen,  _ and they go mostly unnoticed. he’s still wearing declan’s jacket - their arms are bare, for once, and he pokes at them a couple times as they walk. the headphones are solidly staying on. (sensory overload's a bitch.)

it’s some nowhere pizza place, and declan grabs a seat while he grabs the food. he’s shifting in the seat, picking at a stray bit of plastic off his headphones, and tillman shoves a piece of pizza towards him in hopes of getting him to  _ not  _ tear them apart. “out of all the things we could get in chicago, we got the pizza.”

“this is where rivers took dreamy,” declan replies, swallowing another bite, “figured it’d be good. could’ve gotten mcdlonald’s, instead.”

tillman snorts. “nah, absolutely not.”

a group of teens walk in a few minutes later, loud and  _ big,  _ and tillman watches declan close off in real time, setting down their pizza to wrap their hands around their arms. slouches. huh. another minute, and they’re picking at their sleeves, like they’re trying to pull them down.

"let's get out of this joint," tillman says, and declan jolts, prying their hands off their arms to give him a look. he shrugs. "it's lame. c'mon, we've got better places to go."

when they're away from the busy of the street, he tugs them into an empty parking lot and takes off the jacket, shoving it at their chest. "if it meant so much, you should've told me, dumbass. you look two minutes away from having a cringe panic attack."

"i- no, you- i'm fine, dude, stop worrying. you don't worry about shit."

"this isn't worry, it's common fucking sense."

declan's wound up like a live wire. they take the jacket, only to throw it onto tillman's head, a little too frantic, a little too fast. there's a strained laugh from them as he shakes it off; it cracks and devolves into - something else, then. he looks and -

oh, god. tillman's not good with crying people - let alone crying boyfriend. "uh-"

"i'm- fine, it's  _ ffffine _ , don't- call me cringe, or something, i know, i know," another wet laugh, shaky/shaky/shaky, "just- stupid. you're back. it's fine. it's fine."

“cringe,” he mumbles, near unconsciously, and declan shoots him a glare, half-hearted. "fuck. i- uh- c'mere." he steps forward and hugs them, all awkward because he's short and they're crying and - gross. whatever. the jacket manages to fit across both of them, somewhat, and the gesture makes declan grin, wobbly.

they sit there, for a moment, in the middle of an empty parking lot, in the middle of wherever the fuck chicago, until declan's crying turns to sniffs. "sorry," and that's dumb, they don't have shit to apologize for other than being an idiot, "wanna go grab some mcdlonalds?"

"fuck yeah. we're- talking sucks, and i hate it, but we're gonna talk about this when we get home." the words are  _ hard  _ to get out - feelings, god - and tillman refuses to look declan in the eye. he knows he's probably giving him some sappy look. "i'll wear the stupid jacket until then."

"sounds epic." tillman still refuses to make eye contact, even as declan grabs his hand. 

"gayass."

"no, you."

" _ gross _ . cringe."

"you are both of those things, yeah, don't gotta tell me twice-"

tillman squeezes his hand, snickering. "you're the one with snot all over their face."

"i've got tissues in the camino. least there's no  _ corpse  _ smell."

"musky husky..."

"if it were not for the laws of this land i would hit you with a bat."

“coward. do it anyway.”

they end up grabbing entirely too many mcnuggets from the mcdlonald’s drivethrough and a milkshake - which tillman  _ refuses  _ to touch after declan dips his mcnuggets into it, what the  _ fuck _ \- and heading straight home. he’s absolutely dreading the Talking part of that promise he made, but, y’know. you’re dead for a year, there’s stuff to deal with. cringe. 

“so,” declan starts, once they’re home and on the couch. tillman groans, shuffling until he’s leaning against their side again. “talking.” 

“talking.” 

“we gonna do it?”

“can i say no?”

“nope!”

“fuck.” 

declan laughs. “c’mon, you were the one who said we were gonna… talk about this.” he tugs at the jacket, and yeah,  _ fair,  _ that doesn’t mean he wants to.

“i’m fuckin’- allergic. to heartfelt conversations.” there’s a pause, where declan’s just-  _ looking  _ at him, and he throws back his head, hands moving to zip the zipper of the jacket up/down/up/down. “sure. okay. i don’t want you fucking up your own mental health because you’re- i dunno. scared? ‘m not gonna run off n’ die again, n’- i-” the ache in his chest is back, damn, and the words are in the back of his throat. god. maybe he really is allergic. “i think it would be pretty lame if you up and died, ‘kay? the only fucker here allowed to get incinerated is me. that’s my brand. you can’t pull off the corpse look.”

there’s a moment of silence, before declan sniffles again. “why are you- idiot, that’s a good thing, c’mon-” 

“that’s the dorkiest thing you’ve ever said,” they manage, voice wobbly. oh. they’re being sappy. tillman sticks out his tongue, kicks at their shin in some kind of protest. “i just- missed you. very unpoggers of me, i  _ know,  _ but, like, fuck! you weren’t… coming back. who- i dunno. my brain just yelled that- jacket or nothing. but- cringe brain also says sensory fuckups, so.” 

“pretty cringe,” tillman agrees, “but you’re always cringe, so it’s fine. i can balance you out.”

“very reassuring,” declan says, dry, but they’re grinning, nose scrunched up a little, and they’re still holding him, so it’s fine. “what would i do without you.”

“choke the tigers from ascending and thinking they’re hot shit.”

“sudden confidence in the firefighters?”

“no, everyone else is just shit.”

“yeah, okay. sounds about right.” declan wiggles to let tillman shrug the jacket off, spluttering as it gets tossed over  _ their  _ head, this time. “i- deserved that, but also fuck  _ off _ -”

“when we ascend-”

“sudden.” 

tillman scowls, tapping his hand against his knee, fast. “my brain connected the dots because i’m so sexy and cool. when we ascend, you’re gonna be there, right?”

“you can’t take all of the firefighters with you,” they start, “but- we’re holding the ladder, obviously.”

“fuck the gods, fuck the rules.”

“bro-”

“you’re coming with,” tillman decides. “would be pretty lame not to come.”

“now who’s being sappy,” but declan shrugs, looks a little convinced. “wanna ascend in carcassonne?”

“gonna kick your ass for real this time.”

“bet.” 

“bet!”

(tillman loses the bet. a week feels a little too short, compared to a year, but - there’s always chiclawgo games to look forward to. tillman’ll win those for  _ sure. _ declan’s looking forward to it.)

**Author's Note:**

> this is possibly the Second most self-indulgent thing i've ever written and thats fine. love me some boys with rancid fucking vibes . you can find me on twitter @ paopuleaves or at the crabitat talking about townsendersuzanne all the time now


End file.
